Joey's Beastly Summer
by MalibuSwede
Summary: After wearing a wire to convince her father to turn himself in for dealing cocaine, Joey turns on the person she holds responsible for destroying the fantasy, the boy who called himself her 'soulmate'. Humiliated, devastated, she now faces a summer alone.
1. Part Une

**A BEASTLY SUMMER**

Chapter One

I should have gone to France. Instead, I behaved like a stupid lovestruck school girl and stayed to please him. I hate him. What was I thinking? That not going to France and not taking advantage of the opportunity of a lifetime would make me stronger? Yeah, right.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Without me to mess things up, my dad would probably still be at home tending to business at The Ice House—not on his way to a maximum security prison with hardened felons. Without me to mess things up, the family business would not be a hideous charred shell defacing Wilson's Landing. Without me to mess things up, Bessie wouldn't have to worry about how she's gonna buy groceries and have yet another reason to hate me.

I've been hiding out in the bathroom for the better part of three days, terrified of facing her, too afraid to see what's in her eyes. Occasionally, she pounds the door and asks if I'm still alive in here, and I just turn on the shower or something. Then I sit in the tub and cry my eyes out.

I'm so stupid. Maybe it was naïve to trust my dad so completely, but it seemed the right thing to do to bring him back into the family. And he had changed, he showed us that. He was just scared…and weak.

Not like Dawson. The boy I loved. The boy I thought I could trust with anything. I let him back into my life and in less than two months he destroyed everything. So intent on being the hero and doing the "right thing", never seeing the bigger picture and that there _were_ alternatives.

He went to the police and set me up; he set _us_ up. How could I let him manipulate me into betraying my father, right or wrong? I hate him. I don't think I've ever hated anyone as much as I hate him right now.

And now I'm crying again. Crying and shaking. My clothes are soaked through and I've barely eaten in days—only what I could manage to swallow the few times I've heard Bessie leave the house. She took Alex over to Bodi's family's house and obviously has been using the facilities there, because she doesn't come in here.

Oh God, I forgot about Bodi. Does he hate me, too? I've betrayed them all and I'm heartsick. Bodi's like an older brother to me: kind, protective, always ready to give advice. What if he never talks to me again? What if _no one_ talks to me again?

I can't stand this. The guilt is eating me up.

My stomach still has adhesive markings from the tape that secured the recorder that would incriminate my father. I've rubbed it raw and it's still there. It's become part of my punishment, a Scarlet Letter burned into my belly for all to see, a fleshly reminder of my betrayal.

I am all alone in this.

I should just disappear. Catch a bus and go to New York or some place. Any place where people won't recognize me. Any place where people won't look at me with curious expressions while whispering furtively to companions behind half-covered mouths. Any place where I don't matter.

If I hear Bessie and the truck again, I am going to grab my backpack and some supplies and get out of here. I don't need much… Just… some… sleep…

**zzzzzzzzzz**

It's nighttime and dead quiet in the house. How long has she been gone? Long enough, I think, for me to scurry outside and grab some clothes. The lights are off. I'll just leave the light on here in the bathroom while I gather my belongings. I grab a box of crackers and a Diet Coke. She won't mind; she'll be relieved to be rid of me. Maybe I should leave a note…

"Joey?"

Shit. Where did she come from? Do I have enough time to retreat to the bathroom? But Bessie's too smart, she's blocked my way. She stands as a silhouette in the doorway, I can't make out her face.

"Please, Bess. I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone. I just wanted…" I can't control my tears. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and head for the front door. "I'm so sorry."

"Joey, don't!" she screams. "Stop!"

Is she that mad that she has to have this confrontation three days later in the middle of a muggy summer night? I turn to face her. "Where do you think you're going?" she says as she runs toward me. I still can't gauge her voice but recoil in response, expecting the worst. A good throttling, a slap.

But she opens up her arms and draws me into a big embrace, tightening her arms around me like she's holding on for dear life. And I think both of us are. We certainly are both crying and sobbing like pathetic little girls.

"I didn't know what to do," she says. "I thought you were never coming out of there."

"I'm so ashamed…so ashamed," I blubber.

"It's not your fault, Joey." I stop whimpering for a moment. "What Dad did was _not_ your fault. You were right all along. He wasn't ready to jump back into the family business and prove everyone wrong. He needed time. You were stronger and smarter than all of us; he was the weak one."

"But…"

"No. I will not allow you to blame yourself for this, Joey. Dad's failings are his own. You are not responsible."

"But the Ice House is gone, Bess," I say, feeling the tears starting to flow again. My head is throbbing. My cheeks are stained, my nose is swollen, and my eyes so red and puffy I can barely see out of them. "What are we going to do now?"

I sink to the floor and Bessie follows me. I can see a concerned look on her face when she looks into my bloodshot eyes. She takes a Kleenex from her pocket and begins dabbing my face. "Right now, I am putting you to bed. And tomorrow after you've eaten everything I put in front of you, young lady…then and only then will we talk about the future."

She pulls me up from the hard wooden floor and starts leading me back to the bedroom. "But we're not going to talk about this anymore tonight."

Bessie gives me a pair of pajamas and I go back into the bathroom to wash my face and change. I catch my reflection in the mirror and don't even recognize the ugly girl I see. "Oh God," I say softly. "What?" Bessie asks as she clears the bed. "Nothing." She pops her head inside the door. "It sure will be nice to get this bathroom back," she grins good-naturedly. I managed a feeble smile. How can she be so bright?

When I come out, I notice that instead of pulling out my sofa bed, she has put my pillows on her bed. "Alex is with a babysitter tonight. Do you mind sharing my bed?" she says. I nod and slip between the covers, terrified that she'll see how scared and confused I still am. Bessie lies down next to me and wraps me in her arms.

"I love you, Jo," she says, brushing my hair back from my face. "Don't worry. We'll work this out."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

The next morning I wake up to the tune of Alex giggling in the kitchen and bacon frying in the skillet. I get up, put on my bunny slippers and tredge my way to the bathroom, which now has new towels, soap and washcloths. But what I need more than anything is a good ol' tube of Crest and at least ten minutes with a new toothbrush—I destroyed mine trying to scrub off the last remnants of tape. Bessie shows up with exactly what I need.

"Oh, you're up!" she says. "I was going to let you sleep in for another hour. I've got some news for you. Lots of news, actually." "What?" "Come on into the kitchen. No news will be imparted without a significant amount of breakfast being consumed." It doesn't take much coaxing. I have to admit I'm hungry. I down two glasses of orange juice, some coffee, two fried eggs, five pancakes and a half dozen pieces of bacon without even thinking. Gulp. Thank God she didn't make French Toast.

"Do you want to hear about Dad?" Bessie asks somewhat cautiously. "Okay," I mutter, convinced it can only be bad news. "They've offered him a deal. He is going to provide state's evidence and they are going to reduce the charge. Even though he's a two-time offender he'll be able to go to a minimum security prison. We don't know where yet." "Oh."

"Bodi found that out for us. I still haven't been able to face Dad." I look at Bess. I was sure she'd be the one trying to bail him out, but she's not. "I keep thinking what could have happened to you that night. I mean, you risked your own life to go in and try to get him out of there. What if Alex and I had been there as well? I can't even think about it, Joey," she says, putting her hand on mine. "I could have lost you!" Her eyes are brimming with tears.

"It's okay, Bess," I try to reassure her. "We're all okay." "My little sister…I'm so humiliated, I should have been taking care of _you._" Now it's my turn to get up and give her a hug. We stay like that until I have to let go in order to breathe again.

She changes the subject. "I talked to Principal Markey the other day when I knew you were in no condition to finish your finals." Finals. I had forgotten about them. "She is going to let you take them next week, if you think you're ready." "Yeah, thanks. I'll call them."

So I missed out on officially moving up a grade with the rest of Capeside High. All for the best, I guess. At least I didn't have to see HIM again. Or any of my friends right now; I don't think I could bear to look any of them in the eye.

"I spoke with the insurance company and there's been some hang-up with the check. So it's going to be a little tight until we can get some money flowing in again, but most of our creditors have been very patient. Bodi's looking for work in Boston. Thank God we own this house outright."

"Thank Mom," I add. "She's the one who paid off the mortgage." I try to keep the bitterness from seeping in because I remember how many grueling hours Mom worked at that crummy bar to make that possible. In the end, when she could no longer work, and Dad was tied up in his illegal—and illicit—adventures, it was her insurance policy that took care of the rest.

"Don't worry, Bess. I am going to start looking for a job right away." Anything that will keep me away from the people and places I don't need to see. Maybe something down at the marina.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

I didn't realize how angry I would get just walking down that school hall. Past his locker and mine…past the cafeteria where we often had our morning tête-à-têtes…past the library where I first kissed him…and into the schoolroom where we had two of our biggest fights. I am boiling mad now.

My mood isn't helped by our current situation. It turns out the insurance company has decided to sit on that check while they investigate who really was responsible for the fire. Things began to look so desperate that last weekend, without our knowing it, a collection was actually taken at church to help out "the poor Potter sisters". I don't want their hand-outs, and I certainly don't want their pity.

Damn him! I should have gone to France. He's fled to Philadelphia, I hear. I don't care. The further away, the better. I hope I never see him again.

I sit down in a chair in the back corner of the room waiting for Mrs. Tringle to bring forth the first exam. I hope it's English first because I'm too mad to see my way clear through History, the exam we were studying for the night of the fire.

But History, it is.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Was that Pacey I saw just looking through the window? I think it was. How did he know I was here? It's 2:00 and I'm nearly finished with my second exam. I wrote like a demon on those History essay questions—not diatribes exactly but definitely an angry slant on Charlemagne, the Magna Carta, and all the tortuous events of that era. Good thing they didn't ask me my take on Henry VIII.

I hand my completed test and stub of a pencil into Mrs. Tringle. "Congratulations, Josephine," she says. "You'll be getting your grades shortly, but I think we all know we'll be seeing you on the junior honors roll next Fall." "Thanks," I say, managing something resembling a smile.

I've decided to walk down to the marina to see what jobs are still available. The summer is always a busy time on the docks, with pleasure as well as fishing craft coming and going I'm sure I'll be able to find something too lowly for the perennial high school brats to consider.

I grab a hot dog and soda from a vendor's cart and—there!—I think I see Pacey again, casually strolling by the fountain. Screw him. I don't need to play this cat and mouse game. I think I'll try the bait & tackle shop first.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"Bess, do you know Rob Logan, the senator's son?" "He runs Logan's Marina, doesn't he? The supply store?" "My new place of employment." Bessie puts Alex in his crib and comes right back. "Good for you, Joey. We could sure use the money right now." "Yeah, well. The guy is a cretin but I think I can handle him. Not to mention the pay is decent and he's promised to give me as many hours as I want. I don't have to look for a second job."

"I'll make it up to you, Joey. I promise." "No speech necessary, Bess. This is my contribution to our home. I may even be able to keep the job well into the Fall—save up something for later." "I don't want you to overdo it, Jo. Remember to schedule some time for your friends."

"What friends?" I retort. "Have I missed something? I don't remember anyone coming by these last two weeks." "I think they're waiting for you, Jo. You kind of scared them off." "How? When?" "Well, thanks to our boys in blue everyone pretty much heard about what happened…including your speech to Dawson." "What do you mean?" "Your mic was still on."

Great. Just great. So the Keystone Kops were "supervising" (and I must put that in quotations) the audio transcript of my shameful day of betrayal and recrimination. Did they make copies and send it into Channel 7 News? I bet someone gave Gale Leery a copy too—another chance to validate her hero son who's suffered the slings and arrows I've unfairly directed at him. Well, now they're both in Philadelphia so I won't have to bear that particular judgment.

Why couldn't he leave well enough alone? Why did he feel it necessary to risk our fragile relationship? I loved him.


	2. Part Deux

Chapter Two

A week and a half into this marina gig and I have to say that it doesn't get any better. I am always in a bad mood when I arrive, it is always hot, and Rob is always inappropriate. I brush off his Neanderthal advances, part of my penance I figure. It's always fun pumping gas in this heat, and even more fun cleaning the dock of the fish gut slop that accompanies the return of a tourist fishing boat.

"Wanna ice-cold beer?" someone says. Thinking it must be Rob, I come back with an equally ice-cold retort about not being legal…but then I notice it's Jack. "Oh. Hi," I say as all courage flees my body. "Hey, Jo. It's been awhile. I've missed you—we _all_ miss you."

I have nothing to say in response. Truth is, I've missed them as well but there is no way I am going to let them know that. I can't. "Well, I can see you don't want to talk. I just wanted you to know that we're here for you. Call us, whenever you feel like it. We're not going to let you strand yourself in this desolate place all summer," he declares.

There go the tears again, but I won't let him see me like this. I mumble something like "Thanks" and walk away with my back still to him. The rest of the day is spent hiding out in the office, pretending to work on the accounts; I fill the page with black.

_There is no way_ I am going to visit them. Jack is now living with Jen at Mrs. Ryan's house—just across the way from Dawson's. I might call. Later. But that night I can't resist temptation. I get in my boat and row to the other side of the creek. I slow down nearing the dock and my heart flutters because I can see lights on and Mitch Leery's Explorer parked nearby. The lights are on at Grams' too and I see some figures on the outdoor swing…

Shit! Did they see me? I quickly turn around the boat and head home. Evenso, this becomes the first of many late-night sojourns back to the place I had come to think of as my home. My true North. It can never be that again. I messed up.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

How many ways do I suck? Bad daughter, bad sister, bad friend, bad girl--- No erase that.

I'll admit that I was confused, scared that things were changing too fast, and not changing at all. Anxious to grow up and move on, and yet not ready to leave. And I was unhappy. There were lots of reasons why—good reasons—but it scared me when the one thing I thought would change that, and change me, didn't. His love wasn't enough; WE weren't enough.

I guess that's why I fell in with Jack. He represented change…possibility…the future, and it excited me. Not enough to stay away forever, just enough to find peace in something new. I wasn't happy, but I wasn't unhappy anymore. Jack was (and still is) my Bohemian spirit, even after he decided he was...gay. I like the way he and Jen have become friends; they suit each other. If only Dawson and I had managed to keep it on that level, but once again we got drawn in by the fantasy. Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I guess I shouldn't blame him, but I still do. He could have come to me first; he _should_ have come to me first. He should have allowed me to confront my dad without a microphone in between us recording our personal moments as well as his confession. I swear we could have found a way to shut down those small-town drug lords and get him out of that business.

But he could only see black and white, and he went to the badge first. Pacey's dad! God! And I chastised Sheriff Witter for checking in with my father that night—he _knew!_ And so did Dawson. While I was kissing him and assuring him he was part of my family now, he was already planning the final betrayal. Always the Master Planner. No, I don't think I'm going to be over hating him anytime soon. I let him in and he betrayed me. He betrayed my trust as completely and irrevocably as my father did. Where was the honor in that?

I don't think I can forgive him.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Day 38 of the summer without end and I am as cranky as ever due to the heat and my nimrod of a boss, but surprisingly not angry—not today. Pacey dropped by. "Just for a soda," he said. But he hung around long after he had finished it, and as much as I was tempted to kick his slacker butt out of here, something in me took pity on him. He seemed lonely and, frankly, I was too.

He didn't speak about Andie, but I know he was churning up inside. He hid his hurt behind a typical façade of Witter bravado as he regaled me with the latest Capeside gossip—Pacey's version, of course, with all kinds of juicy tidbits about who was screwing who behind whose back in our nor'easter edition of _Passions._ He laughed hysterically telling the story about the horny jocks who wanted to impress their dates by tipping bulls—not cows, bulls—but at least the dry cleaners appreciated it. The mid-summer carnival had been a bust: the ferris wheel broke down in the heat and there were more adults on the merry-go-round than kids.

Too bad he didn't stay until the end of my shift. I wouldn't have minded walking home with him. Something to keep me alert and awake as I drag my feet along the country road.

Suddenly, a car full of high school brats goes by and they're honking their obnoxious horn and pointing and laughing, and I curse the day I ever believed any of those jerks had accepted me on my own. They toss a few firecrackers and drive off. Someday I will show them.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

I've decided to call Andie. I don't know how much she knows about what went down after she left, but I need someone to talk to. She's close but removed, not so much wrapped up in Capeside (like her brother) and, yes, able to identify with that dark part of my melodramatic story involving the shameful misdeeds of a dysfunctional parent.

"Joey, hi! I'm glad Jack gave you my number. How are you?" "Fine, I guess. How are you doing, Andie? Are things going well?" "Yes. It was scary when I first got here. But I've made some friends here and it's been nice to have someone to talk to who knows what you're going through," "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"I'm so sorry, Joey." "You've heard? The news travels far and wide." "I don't know if I heard everything, but Pacey did tell me about your dad…and about Dawson."

"Pacey told you?" "He's worried about you. He says you've been avoiding them all summer." "Yeah, like they really care," I start crying. "Of course they care, Joey! We all care. I know Jack and Jen and I are new kids on the block but, come on, you've known Pacey since you were what, six, seven? Almost as long as you've known Dawson." There's that name again. I can't find the words to continue.

"Joey? I can hear you there. Stop sniffling, you're going to make _me_ cry." "I'm sorry, Andie," I finally manage to get out, the words barely escaping my lips. "Don't be sorry, just call them up, will you? I can't give you a hug from here but they can—and they want to, Jo. Let them. I mean, your sister's great and everything but you need your peer support system back in place. Let them in, okay?" "Okay," I say softly. "Promise? Promise me." "I…promise."

"Don't let me down. I want to see you smiling and in your favorite red shirt when I get back." "What red shirt is that?" "You know, the one I keep threatening to steal from your wardrobe. The Dragon Lady shirt." I can't help giggling. I bought it on a dare on a not-too-distant-in-the-past shopping spree with Jen and Andie.

"Oh! Time's up," she says suddenly. "But wait Andie. We didn't really get to talk about you," I say, wiping the last tear from my face. "I know. But, you know, it's really helped me to be able to help _you_ this time, Joey. It means the world to me that you would confide in me, and somehow I feel better." "I do, too. Thanks Andie. I'll call you again soon."

"Remember your promise…" I hear her say as I put down the receiver. I hope I can keep it; I really want to.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

"Okay. Day 51 and we have yet to hear from the Potter chick," the voice on the other end of the phone complains. "When exactly were you going to call?" Can't mistake that voice, with its cultured yet Pee Wee Herman-like comic tones. It's Jen Lindley.

"Jen. Hi. How are you doing," I say with a modicum of enthusiasm. "Potter? We're coming over there and picking you up after work. We're going out!" I try the standard excuse. "I can't, Jen. I promised Bessie I'd watch Alexander tonight." "Nope, that lame-o excuse just lit the big one. We called Bess, Joey. Your services are no longer required tonight."

Damn! Should have told them about the second job I'm getting—the one that gets me ahead in the school department and off the hook in the friend one. I may have no choice but to offer a surrender…of sorts. "What's on the agenda for tonight?" "Drugs, sex and rock-n-roll, baby!" She can hear my smirk on the other end of the phone. "Don't pull that cringing Elvis lip thingy on me, Joey. We are picking you up and we are going to see a new band in Chatham and we are going to have a good time. What time do you get off?" "8:00," I offer.

"No chance of seducing the boss and getting a lead time on that, eh?" "Har har." "Fine. 8:00, it is. Do you need a change of clothes?" No, I intend to wear exactly what I had on this morning—tank top, jeans and tennys. I may not even bother with a deodorant. "No, thanks." "OK. See you soon." Soon? It's only 5:00. I need some time to plan my escape.

But there isn't any time. They are wise to my ways and have subverted my ditch plans with a double-ditch of their own: they've brought food and drink and…water balloons. The next thing I know, Jack and Jen and Pacey are playing a game of hide and seek on the docks, coming dangerously close to nailing some tourists but somehow always managing to hit their secondary target: me. Before long, I am soaking wet and there is no way I am going to wear this to a concert.

No good. Jen has stashed away clothes for the both of us, along with her travel bag of makeup, a variety of sample perfumes…and, yes, deodorant. Foiled again. But I don't have to be too excited. So it's a night out with the gang. Only that picnic basket is beginning to look mighty tempting, and the next thing I know I'm sitting down with them eating Grams' fried chicken and honey-dripped corn bisquits along with gobs of homemade coleslaw and old-fashioned root beer.

Contented, I close up shop at 8:00 on the dot—okay, maybe 7:55—and we all pile into the Witter Wagoneer for our journey to Chatham. Pacey starts us off on a round of "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall"… "Pacey, no! Give us a break!" Jen and I plead. "Now we'll never be able to get that stupid song out of our heads." But we sing along anyway.

The "concert", if you can call it that, is 100 kids packed into a basement dive not much bigger than The Ice House had been, grooving to the tune of a college cover band named Aggressive Mediocrity. They are no more and no less than mediocre. But no one seems to care as they cheer and body slam into each other. Pacey has managed to weasle a few beers out of a new acquaintance and soon everyone except the designated driver is feeling a little buzzed. "Thank you," I say, squeezing his hand under the table and kissing him on the cheek. He seems a little startled.

Embarrassed, I excuse myself to go to the ladies room. Big mistake. There is stall to stall pot smoking going on and I get a contact high just walking in. Somebody hands me a tab of something and, thinking it's aspirin, I take it. I know better than that. Think, Potter! Next time, think!

I exit the bathroom more dazed than when I went in—and there he is waiting in the passageway for me. "Pacey!" He looks glum. At least I am coherent enough to ask him what's wrong. "I was just worried about you, Jo. I was afraid you might not ever come out of that shell again." "You were concerned about me? Ah, Pace," I say, leaning into him. Suddenly, I am overcome with this desire to smother his face with kisses, and I do. I keep doing it until he starts kissing back. People chuckle as they walk back into the club, but I don't care. I just want to devour him. The taste of his lips, the rough skin of his chin. His eyes are closed and I seal them with kisses on the lids, then slide back down to those lips, ready to do tongue battle. Pacey J. Witter is a damn fine kisser. Much better than…

My eyes open simultaneously with his. He looks at me with dewey, sensitive eyes that could crush my heart in a thousand pieces…if only he let me in. But the moment has passed and he gently pushes me away. "We shouldn't do this," he says. "I know," I respond, hoping to lean in for one last kiss. Just one. But he keeps me at arm's length. "Don't think it meant anything," I fling at him defensively. "I was just testing the waters for Andie." He shoots a hurt look back at me and I immediately regret my thoughtlessness, but I don't own up to it. "Can we go home now?" "Yeah," he says with deflating resignation. "Yeah, we can go home."

**zzzzzzzzzz**

On the ride back, I make sure I get to sit in the back seat with Jack. Let Jen cheer up mopey Pacey. I lean my head on Jack's shoulder and pass out.

The next thing I know, the car is stopped in my driveway and everyone is looking at me. "Well, if she's snoring, she's breathing," Jen pipes in. I feebly lift one eyelid. "Ah!" she continues. "Crank the other one open and we just may have a living doll to deposit with big sis."

"It's not fair," I say, looking at Pacey. "What's not fair, hon?" Jack asks. "Life." "The question is, can she walk? I've been through this before," Pacey says knowingly. Ah, screw you! "Two-legged action is definitely required in order to safely deposit her without anyone becoming the wiser."

"She walks, she talks and she can take care of herself, thank you!" I protest, stumbling out of the car. Jen stifles a laugh, Jack offers a hand, and Pacey looks much too serious. "Is that a worried look I see?" I taunt him, tickling him under the chin as he tries to steady me. "Well, never you mind. I am better than ever!" And with that I stagger to the house alone. I really wish I had accepted some help, but it's too late now. Pride goeth before the fall.

Oops! That was close. I have my hand on the doorknob. I am opening the door. I am walking in. No lights. That's okay, I can see in the dark….except for that toy. Didn't mean to step on that toy. Ouch! The coffee table. Why does it have so many corners? My bed is just two steps away…

**zzzzzzzzzz**

Bessie is being unbelievably understanding. She hasn't said a word about the condition she found me in this morning, half on and half off the sofa, right hand clinging to one of Alex's toys…and, oh yes, the pool of drool. Good thing I had my clothes on…I think. I did, didn't I?

I wanted to call Andie today but my head is pounding and I'll be lucky to put a few hours at my new job. That's what I didn't tell anyone. Principal Green, Capeside High's new principal, called and offered me a job organizing the new textbooks and teaching materials coming in for the upcoming school year. It means, too, that I get an advance look at some of those books for my AP classes. Tuesday through Saturday I work at the marina; Saturday morning and Monday afternoon I work at the high school; in between, I study.

Hey, if you're going to close yourself off to society and succumb your ever-deepening depression, might as well get something out of it. Right? And now I'm so locked into a schedule that even my "support group" appears to be giving up on me. I've talked to Andie several times and she gives no indication that Pacey said anything about that night. Jen and Jack, on the other hand, have been acting particularly strange—Pacey must've told them.

In a rage, I try phoning him but he doesn't return my phone calls. On Sunday afternoon, I decide to walk over to his house and confront him. "Dawson, man. I told you. We've been trying to make contact but she just isn't responding to us. She spent the first half of the summer angry as all get-out, and now I think she's just depressed. And lonely. I think she misses you."

I can't believe what I just heard! How dare he tell Dawson that! I step up to the screen door and just glare at him sitting down at the dining room table, one foot up on a chair. "Right, right. OK. Sure. See you in a couple of weeks." He gets up and puts the phone back in its cradle—then turns around and sees me. I hope he catches this look and everything it conveys because right now I think I really hate him. I shake my head and swivel around before he can witness me losing it.

I run as fast as my legs will carry me. Back to the marina. Back to my cocoon. I don't care if I ever see any of them again.

**zzzzzzzzzz**

I've been dreaming about him a lot. He follows me to the marina and tells me he's sorry. He puts a strand of hair back in place, just like he used to do. He comforts me and tells me everything will be all right. He whispers everything I want to hear as he nibbles on my ear. Then he kisses my tears away, leaving a salty trail of wet kisses down my neck to my collarbone. I bring his lips back up to mine and he suckles on my lower lip. I turn my head to accommodate him, and soon our tongues are exploring the valleys and caverns of our mouths.

I ache for him. I want him to do ungodly things to me, things I can't even express in words. But just as he begins touching me, I wake up...and I am a mess of sweat and moist vaginal secretion. Dawson never did this to me before. Why do I dream this way about Pacey?

In less than a week, we are going to be back at school and I don't know what to do about it. The only thing I know for sure is that I want to go to Dawson and ask his forgiveness. It's taken me all summer to admit to myself that I was wrong. Andie and Jen both helped me see this. Not by pointing it out but by talking me through it, letting me tell my side of the story.

I realize now that I wanted to hurt Dawson. Badly. I wanted to wound him as fatally as I had been wounded. One day I had my father back, the family business was thriving and expanding, Bessie was the happiest I had seen her in years…and I had the boy of my dreams in my life. Dawson Leery was my boyfriend and I was proud to tell the world that. Then in one fell swoop, it was all gone—and the most hurtful thing of all was that the man I loved had been behind it.

I was blaming the wrong man. My dad was responsible; Dawson was just doing what he thought was right the best way he knew how; he thought he was protecting me. But I was devastated, wracked with guilt for becoming part of the betrayal, and like a child I struck back, telling him that I would never forgive him and that I never wanted to see him again.

Knowing what I know now—that I intended to hurt him—has made me even more ashamed. But I think I can live through that shame if I ask for his forgiveness, let him know that I realize how horribly I behaved and that I was wrong. I want him to know that hope has returned to the Potter household.

Then I have to apologize to Pacey. I shouldn't have directed my last nasty gasp of Potter wrath at him. He was trying to be a friend, and I blew it. I like him more than ever now that I know he never said a word about our little dueling tongues encounter to anyone. I was the one being weird.

"Big surprise there, Potter," I'm sure he'd say.


End file.
